


Fragmented You

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BDSM, Blood, Dealing With Loss, Dominant Deucalion, Figuring Things Out, Kink Research, M/M, Multi, Off-page character death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Domestic Violence, Rating May Change, TW: Blood, endgame Stetopher, everyone is trying their best, fumbling with BDSM, submissive stiles, what even are tags anymore?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-28 14:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: Stiles has been married to his husband and Dominant Deucalion for three years, when Duke suddenly passes away. This is the fragmented story of the aftermath of that death and Stiles getting his life--and self--back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: It's BDSM-y. The timeline might end up being odd. The story is probably told in different sized fragments. I don't know what exactly will be shown and what told. You've been warned. While there will be description of past Stiles/Deucalion, it's endgame Stetopher.
> 
> GENERAL NOTE: I don't know what this is, where it came from, or where it's going. Well, I know some, as the tags might suggest.  
> I have no clue when I'll be writing more of this or any sort of posting schedule, this is mainly therapy for my muses.  
> So hey, if you like it, let me know and I might be able to get more of it out of my head.

* * *

 

 

“Son, I….” John sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. It wasn’t like he’d ever really understood, and they both knew it. But this time….

“I know, Dad.”

“Wasn’t… what he was doing there, wasn’t that more _your_ thing?” John never looked at Stiles, couldn’t, when talking about this.

Stiles let out an ugly, bitter chuckle. “Yes.”

“Then why—”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he snapped, cutting his dad off. “In any case, I’m in town to stay for a while, I can’t….” Stiles dropped his gaze to the living room rug.

John cleared his throat. “Okay. You can stay in your room if you want, like always.”

“No, I… I got a room from the B&B for now.”

“Alright, well, you know where to find me.”

They stood and embraced awkwardly, and then Stiles went back to the crappy Sedan he’d bought from Tucson just to get here, and drove to the B&B.

 

**

 

Stiles had just finished mopping the downstairs floors when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries, but it could be important anyway. He walked to the little nook right inside the kitchen and pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt. Opening door naked wasn’t a good idea, after all.

He reached the door just as it rang for the second time.

Stiles opened it and peered out. Two people who could only be cops in civilian clothing stood there, looking awkward.

“How can I help you?” Stiles asked, already knowing it wouldn’t be anything good.

The men dug out their badges and showed them to Stiles.

“I’m Detective Grimes, this is Detective Johanson from the TPD. Mr. Stilinski-Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Could we come in?” Detective Grimes asked, and that’s when Stiles realized how fucking bad the news would actually be.

“S-sure,” he managed to say, and let them inside, then closed the door with a final sounding click.

 

**

 

“What is it, boy?” The familiar gruff voice asked as soon as the call connected. “I’m busy.”

“Ennis,” Stiles whispered through his shock and pain. “ _Ennis._ ”

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” Ennis’s tone changed completely.

“It’s Duke, he’s… it’s all fucked up, he… he’s dead and I can’t—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen, Stiles. Just hold on.”

“Okay,” Stiles breathed, and dropped the phone as he curled up into a ball.

He couldn’t breathe much, and logically knew curling up didn’t help a bit, but this…. He couldn’t control what his body did at that moment, what it decided to do for protection, even if it hurt him, too.

 

**

 

Ennis made calls to the Tucson kink community. He made sure Stiles ate and knocked him out with sleeping pills when he realized Stiles couldn’t sleep. He organized the funeral, and made sure everyone treated Stiles with kindness. When Kali, one of Ennis and Deucalion’s friends in the community, started to whisper about what had gone down, Ennis slapped her hard across the face, even though they were both Dominants.

Nobody talked to Stiles, even though they seemed to respect him, or maybe his loss, who knew.

Ennis helped Stiles pack up his own things and told him where to go to buy a car.

Not once did he try to make Stiles stay. He understood better, probably.

What Duke had done, how he’d died… it had changed things. Among those things was how Stiles now looked at himself, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

On hindsight, much later down the line, he thought maybe Ennis saw that and knew he didn’t have the tools to help Stiles and let him go because of that.

There would be papers to sign, but those could be signed anywhere. There would be a house to sell, and Duke’s belongings to get rid of, but Ennis would do that for Stiles.

 

**

 

Stiles walked into the bedroom one last time. He felt numb, like he was on autopilot. Like he was _supposed_ to feel more but couldn’t.

He went to the dresser and took his collar from the ornate wooden box they kept it between the times they played. It was too much of a collar to be worn outside scenes, after all. Duke hadn’t wanted him to wear something simpler. He’d liked the leather better than the more easily hidden collars Stiles could’ve worn all the time.

Stiles carried the collar downstairs and into the kitchen.

Ennis turned from where he sat by the breakfast table, going through some of Duke’s papers.

Without saying a word, Stiles dropped the collar on top of the island.

Ennis looked at it and cleared his throat. Then he carefully asked, “Do you want to keep that?”

Stiles shook his head firmly.

“Should I get rid of it for you?”

Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment, and then nodded.

“Alright,” Ennis said and got up. “You about ready to go?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Y-yeah.”

“Drive safely, Stiles. I’ll email you with everything and call any time you want, you hear me?”

The hug was warm and hard and everything Stiles needed to get through this. He refused to cry against Ennis’s wide chest, and gave him a shaky smile instead.

They both knew Ennis would’ve taken him as his submissive, had Stiles asked. But this wasn’t just about losing his Sir. It was about losing his husband of three years.

And a little about losing himself as a result.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like I'm posting as I go. So this is what I've written today. Still no real clue what's going to happen. Oh well.

* * *

 

 

The B&B was quaint, but also stylish. Less grandma and more hipster, maybe. Then again, Stiles wasn’t exactly the judge on either of those things, so what did he know.

He carried his luggage to the front desk in the large Victorian house’s front room and peered around. Nobody was there.

He dinged the bell on top of the desk and heard a muffled “Be right there!” from somewhere deeper in the house.

He could vaguely remember this building from his childhood. It had been powder pink back then, not the blue it was now. Some elderly couple had lived in it, and once upon a time there had been a small orphanage in it, if he remembered correctly.

A door closed somewhere, and fast steps approached, until a man in a V-neck sweater rounded a corner.

“Sorry about that, I was washing the dishes,” he said, smiling at Stiles.

“No problem,” Stiles murmured, and tried to smile back.

Based on the man’s expression, he couldn’t make it stick.

“I’m Peter Hale, and you are….” He looked at the book that was open on the desk, “Mr. Stilinski?”

It took Stiles two beats to answer. He hadn’t realized he’d booked under his old name, and something inside him waited for the rest of his name. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” Mr. Hale seemed to take everything in stride and had Stiles fill a little form, then gave him a key. “I’ll show you to your room. Can I take some of your stuff, it’s on the third floor?”

Stiles handed him the duffle and carried the suitcase and laptop case himself. The stairs were narrow and while the house had been renovated, the original wooden parts like the banisters were still dark wood.

The house was charming, that much Stiles could tell even through his haze of nothingness. He followed Mr. Hale to the third floor, where the man stopped.

“I thought, since you’re staying for a bit longer, you’d want privacy,” Mr. Hale started, then nodded to the first door they stood by. “That’s the master suite, where me and my husband Christopher live. We don’t normally put guests in this floor, but….” He shrugged, and something gave Stiles the impression that the man knew about loss. Whether it had been his dad giving Mr. Hale a heads up or something else, he wouldn’t know. “This way.”

Stiles followed him to the other end of the hall and into a large bedroom. The whole room had been decorated tastefully, and it looked more like a home than a hotel room, which he could appreciate.

“This is nice,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” Mr. Hale beamed at him. “There’s a bathroom through here, and if you need to use the kitchen downstairs, you’re welcome to. All the info on breakfast schedule and such is on our website and downstairs.”

“Wi-fi password?” Stiles remembered when the man was about to leave.

“Right, the rooms on second floor have folders for information regarding your stay, but there isn’t one here.” He glanced around as if looking for the folder. “I’ll bring you one right away.”

“Mr. Hale, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense, you’re our guest here.” Then he smiled again. “And please call me Peter.”

“Okay. I’m Stiles.” Stiles managed, and didn’t lock the door after Peter went to get the folder. It was easier to let the man do what he wished than to argue.

 

**

 

Peter’s hands shook as he stirred the pot of tomato sauce. He felt out of sorts, breathless with the grief that enveloped Stiles.

He could vaguely remember him, the sheriff’s son, from when Chris’s daughter Allison had been younger. He could remember the vibrant, flaily young boy that had followed trouble wherever it lead him and his merry band of friends.

He also remembered graduation day, when Stiles and his friends had crowed about finally being able to leave Beacon Hills.

He heard the back door open by the utility room, and heavy boots fall to their spot. Then Chris walked to the kitchen, took one look at the set of his shoulders, and wrapped himself around Peter from behind.

“What is it?” he murmured into Peter’s hair.

Peter tried to answer, but no words came out. His breath hitched, and he turned around to bury himself in Chris’s embrace.

Luckily they’d been together for long enough for Chris to know it wasn’t about family. Peter would’ve called or texted.

Eventually, after a few minutes of calming the fuck down, Peter wiped his eyes. He turned the heat under the sauce even lower, and then tugged Chris to the front room where the closest couches were.

Unconsciously, he glanced towards the stairs despite the fact that he’d hear if their guest moved from his room.

“You’re worrying me, darling,” Chris said quietly and held onto his hand as they sat down.

“I told you about the new booking,” Peter started and Chris nodded. “It’s Stiles Stilinski.”

Chris looked surprised. “Did something happen to John?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. We’d heard about it by now, right?”

“Right. So…?”

“I don’t know. He’s wrapped in grief that I can physically feel. It’s not just the scent of it, it’s…” He trailed off and looked at the fireplace, searching for the words. “It’s like he’s there, but not. Like something about him is fractured. He lost someone, but it’s not just that.”

Chris frowned and thought for a moment. “Should I call Ally?”

“I don’t know….” He sighed. “I could call John, but….”

“I’d rather try Ally at first.”

“Okay. You do that, and I’ll go finish dinner. I’ll have to ask if he wants to eat, too. He looked like he won’t if he’s not pushed.”

 

**

 

With the family business of hunting, this wasn’t the weirdest of calls he’d had to make to his daughter. Even with his crazy sister and father long gone, Allison had wanted to be a hunter when she grew up and learned the truth about the Argent dynasty.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

Too intuitive, his Allison. Smiling, Chris rumbled, “Hey honey, and the answer is I don’t really know.”

“Oh?” Color her intrigued, then.

Chris sat down in the chair in the cramped little office Peter had downstairs, hidden by a bookshelf door that Chris had carefully crafted for him.

He decided to go straight at it, like he knew his daughter preferred. “Yeah. When’s the last time you talked to Stiles Stilinski?”

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. She thought for a few beats. “Couple of years, I think. Why? Is he in trouble?” The affection and worry in her tone for a childhood friend was pure Allison, too.

“He showed up at the B&B today. Peter says he’s enveloped with grief and something else. His dad is okay, as far as we know anyway.”

“Oh, well the sheriff would’ve been my first instinct, too, but…. He’s alone?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Here’s the thing, and I don’t know how much this is true and how much is gossip and so on….”

“Go on, we can sort that out later. Just… you know how Peter can be.”

She chuckled. “Yeah.” They both knew Peter, for all his sarcasm, witty bluster, and snark for days cared so, so deeply. “Okay so, you know he and Scott were friends until we all went our separate ways for college, right?” Chris made an affirmative sound. “I stayed in touch with Scott and still do, off and on. From what I gather, he talks to Stiles once a year or so, and… well you know when I dated Desdemona, right?”

Desdemona had been a half-fae girl during Allison’s last year of college. She’d been submissive as hell, with a seductive streak a mile long and mischief by the pound. Allison had been charmed, and they’d been happy until something went awry and Allison didn’t want to talk about it with her dad, not that he blamed her for it.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Scott said Stiles was like her. A submissive, I mean,” she said quickly, like she was still weirded out by talking about it with him.

Chris smiled. “Okay?”

“Apparently Stiles met this older guy, can’t remember his name now, around the same time I met Des, incidentally. The guy was a Dom, and from what I heard from Scott, Stiles got married to the guy like… must be three or four years ago. So maybe the husband died or something?” Then, before he could say anything, she asked, “Wait, wouldn’t you know this? Aren’t you friends with John?”

“Sort of. We’re… friendly. Not friends per say. Not close enough to talk about our kids’ private lives at least.”

“Oh, makes sense. Anyway, if he’s there alone and grieving, then I’d say something with the husband. And… with Des, things went downhill when I couldn’t be the Domme she needed. Being a submissive it’s different for everyone, apparently. But for her, it was such a part of her psyche that I had to break up with her when I realized I would be holding her back. It’s… it’s sad and tragic, but she’s happy now, somewhere in Spain, I think.”

Chris sighed. “Okay, well, maybe this information is enough to give Peter something to work with. You know he senses this stuff so much better.”

“Stiles is in the know, by the way. He never abandoned Scott when he got bitten while in college. He long-distance supported Scott with everything he had. It took Scott joining the Miller pack and having new responsibilities for them to lose touch. So… you know, he’ll know Peter can read him better than most when he figures out Peter’s a wolf.”

“Thanks for the warning. So, how’s work been?”

 

**

 

Stiles couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he expected the familiar heavy arm to fall over his waist or across his back to anchor him to the bed, to world.

He expected the sting on his ass or back to flare at the touch, and the familiar comfort of his collar to press against the skin of his neck when he moved his head on the pillow. He’d gotten to keep the collar overnight, sometimes.

There were stars in the sky and the moon was getting fuller. It was his second night there, and he hadn’t slept at all. He couldn’t.

Sighing, he got up and pulled on some sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Then he padded out of his room, into the hall, and quietly tried to make his way past Peter and Chris’s bedroom without alerting them to his wanderings.

He remembered them both, vaguely, from his teen years. Chris had been a hunter, like Allison was now, apparently. Although it had taken up until college for Stiles to realize what they actually hunted.

Peter, well, he’d been a bit more of a mystery. A handsome guy Stiles had seen around town sometimes. He hadn’t even known Peter and Chris had gotten together at some point after Allison’s mom Victoria took her own life when they were in high school. Then again, most teenagers were self-centered like that, he wouldn’t have thought to look at the adults that closely.

He went down the stairs to the ground floor and padded to the kitchen in the back of the house. He liked the house a lot, there was a certain kind of calm about it. Not that it helped much, but it did help some and that was more he could ask right then.

There were lights on in the kitchen, and he stopped at the doorway.

Chris sat at the breakfast table with a mug of something in front of him, and browsed a tablet.

“Come on in, you’re not bothering me,” he said, without taking his gaze off the tablet.

Stiles walked in and went to get himself a mug. He needed tea or—“There’s hot chocolate on the stove if you want it.”

“Thanks,” he replied quietly and took what was rest in the saucepan.

“Can’t sleep?”

Stiles turned and went to sit across from Chris. He looked exhausted as well. There was something around his eyes that was familiar to Stiles now.

He grunted as an answer and sipped the drink, then made a pleased sound when it actually tasted very nice.

“Peter’s family recipe,” Chris murmured and smiled slightly.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Stiles asked without meaning to.

“Research. There’s a Yeti in Montana Allison is going to go after with her crew. I can’t sleep until she’s back from there safe and sound.”

“So you research in case she missed something?”

“Yeah. It won’t help, she’s already better than I was, but…  feels like I’m doing something, at least.”

Stiles nodded. He understood the impulse.

“How is she?”

“Good. Seems content. Not really happy, but… you know.” Chris looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how to. He seemed to make up his mind, after a few minutes. “If you need anyone to talk to and all that. Peter and I are here. He’s….”

“More in tune with emotions, I can tell,” Stiles admitted. “It can’t be easy for a wolf, being around me right now.”

“No, it’s not,” Chris said quietly and there was sadness in his icy blue eyes. “He wants to help you but doesn’t know how to.”

Stiles snorted softly. “I don’t know how to help myself, either.”

“Was it your husband you lost?” Chris asked hesitantly.

Stiles nodded. “Six days ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Then, after another moment of silence, Chris added, “I know something about that.”

“Victoria died by her own hand, because she didn’t want to be… whatever bit her, a wolf, right?” Stiles said coldly. “My husband died because of secrecy and stupidity and pure, utter selfishness. It’s different.”

Chris let out a bitter laugh that grated on the hurt parts of Stiles. “Is it?”

Chris got up and took his mug to the sink. Then he walked out of the kitchen with his tablet in hand.

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no clue. Thanks for the comments and kudos, dears. ^^

* * *

 

 

Peter had woken up when Chris came to bed. He always slept lightly when Chris wasn’t by his side where he belonged. The tension and anger and odd, almost guilty kind of grief startled Peter, half asleep as he was.

“What’s wrong?”

“Stiles… Victoria… everything,” Chris mumbled. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Peter collected Chris to his arms and soothed him as best as he could just by being there.

“He said his husband died because of secrecy and selfishness, oh and stupidity.”

“Ah….” Peter could guess what Stiles had said, how Victoria had come up. Stiles had a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. Peter admired that in him already, after couple of days, but he was too young to have learned to know when and how to use his sharp edges. Then again, grief made people do and say stupid things.

They rested in the darkness until they dropped into sleep, one after another, and Peter’s last thought was that the hoped Stiles could get some rest, too.

 

**

 

Chris was gone when Peter got up around six. He could hear movement in the house, so Stiles must’ve been puttering around in the kitchen.

Since they were off season, the next guests would arrive next week. He wondered if that would bother Stiles or not. Or if he’d even be there at that point.

When Peter made his way to the kitchen, he found Stiles there, on the floor on his knees, scrubbing the stubborn stain where the old stove had been before the renovations. They hadn’t replaced the floors, because the stain was the only problem.

“It won’t come out,” he said quietly and went to the coffee pot that was half full.

Stiles continued scrubbing with the kitchen sponge. There was something manic in his movements.

“Stiles?”

Nothing.

Peter looked at the way Stiles moved with stubborn determination, his arms and wide shoulders working hard.

“Stiles, stop, please.”

Nothing changed. The light gray T-shirt Stiles was wearing was dark with sweat between his shoulder blades, sticking to his skin.

Peter went through the options in his mind. He could use force, physically stop Stiles, but he was a wolf and who knew what sort of damage that kind of strength could cause when put against a distraught human.

Finally, after five more minutes of watching Stiles struggle with something he could never fix, Peter went with his gut.

He put his coffee mug on the counter and walked to stand right next to Stiles. He put his hand on top of Stiles’s head, feeling the sweat soaking through. Then he let his voice drop in register, and sent a thought to the universe, and said, “You’re done now, boy. It’s alright, you can stop now, Stiles.”

For the first time, Stiles’s smooth movements jerked to something akin to stop. Then he shook his head. It seemed more like resistance than the need to shake off Peter’s hand, so he slid his fingers through Stiles’s hair, gripped, and twisted.

“Stop it, boy,” he commanded, hoping that his bluff was as good as he thought it was.

Like he’d flipped a switch, Stiles dropped the almost disintegrated sponge and froze. He seemed to press against Peter’s grip, so Peter stepped even closer, so that he could pull Stiles by the hair to lean on his leg.

“That’s it, good boy, you’re okay,” Peter murmured.

Stiles relaxed gradually, until he was slumped against Peter’s leg, awkward as it had to be the way he was still on his knees.

“You feeling better?” Peter asked quietly, tugging at Stiles’s hair to get him to look up.

The look in the expressive brown eyes was pure desperate longing. Peter felt his wolf react, pushing to the front until he could feel his eyes flashing beta gold at Stiles.

Stiles didn’t react to the sudden reminder of Peter’s “other half,” just sighed and dropped his gaze.

“Thank you,” he rasped out.

Peter didn’t know what to say, but his wolf suggested “anytime, as much as you need” which he pointedly ignored.

“Was this penance for upsetting Chris?” Stiles tensed. He pulled away from Peter’s touch and stumbled on his feet, only for Peter to grab his arm to keep him upright. “For the record, I’ve said worse things to him over the years. He can take it, but you’ll have to apologize yourself.”

Stiles nodded silently.

“Did you sleep at all?” Peter asked, knowing the answer from the dark smudges under Stiles’s eyes and the way he was swaying on his feet. “Sit down.” He made sure Stiles could get to the breakfast table, and then made him drink a big glass of orange juice and a PB&J sandwich.

“It won’t budge,” Peter said when he picked up the remnants of the sponge and cleaning solution Stiles had been using.

“Huh?” Stiles blinked at him, slowly chewing the bread, already half asleep.

“The stain. Nobody remembers where it came from and it won’t budge. It’s embedded in the boards. Doesn’t smell like anything in particular, not even to me, so we left it.”

Stiles looked at him like he didn’t understand what Peter was going for.

“Next time you fuck up, there are six bathrooms in this house. Pick one and clean that instead.”

Stiles snorted.

Once the food and juice were gone, Peter grabbed his arm. “I’ll take you upstairs to sleep. Come on.”

Somehow Stiles didn’t resist. He followed Peter to third floor, clearly unable to make the trek alone. Peter stopped him at the master bedroom door and manhandled him inside.

“Try sleeping here.”

Stiles seemed more alert, hesitant, and something like a bit scared when he stopped by the king-sized bed.

“Get to bed and rest, Stiles,” Peter said in a tone that had a surprising growl to it. Whether it was him or the wolf or both, he didn’t care to examine further.

All that mattered was that Stiles climbed into bed, and burrowed in the middle of it, under the comforter.

He didn’t ask Peter to stay, and he wouldn’t have, but his breathing evened out by the time Peter had finished tucking him in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the rating goes up, just in case, but not for sexual content (for now.)  
> Also, if you have a problem with blood, just skip the italicized part in the beginning and you're good.

* * *

 

 

He drifted up from a dream when the mattress dipped. Instinctively, he snuggled up to the warm body next to his, hummed contently, and fell right back into sleep.

He wasn’t sure what changed things. Maybe he got too warm, or the scent of the body next to him being wrong messed it up, but suddenly his dream turned into a nightmare.

_He stood in a warehouse, staring at a dimly lit corner. He could see someone tied up there, in a St. Andrew’s cross, just like the one they had at Ennis’s club._

_He turned his head and Ennis stood there right by him._

_“It’s not your fault, Stiles,” Ennis said firmly._

_Stiles looked at the figure in the corner and realized it was bleeding._

_The blood cascaded down the body hanging there, from a dozen cuts all over its body. The blood flowed down to the floor and the pool started to expand slowly around it._

_“It’s not your fault,” Ennis repeated, as they stood there with the spreading red approaching them._

_Stiles tried to step back, but his feet didn’t move. He tried to lift them, but it was like his shoes were superglued into the concrete._

_“Help me!” he begged Ennis, and when he turned to look, the man wasn’t there._

_The blood was only inches away now, and the figure on the cross wailed._

 

**

 

Chris knew about nightmares. When the flailing started and he got whacked in the chest with an arm, he calmly shook himself awake while protecting himself, and—right, it was Stiles next to him.

“Stiles, wake up,” he said firmly. “You’re having a nightmare.” He held his hand up and caught the forearm coming at his face.

The flailing stopped, and a horrible sob rose from his bedmate. Stiles shook his head, as if trying to shake off whatever he was seeing in the dream and not succeeding.

“Stiles, _wake up!_ ” Chris made the words snap at Stiles’s consciousness.

Stiles’s eyes flew open, and for two seconds he didn’t know what was going on or where he was.

“It’s okay,” Chris murmured. “You were having a bad dream.” He lifted the arm he’d used to contain Stiles’s flailing and waited.

The battle he could see playing out on Stiles’s features hurt him more than he’d expected. He knew the feeling of wanting to escape and to burrow close to a friendly body right after a dream like that.

“I-I’m sorry,” Stiles stuttered finally, and seemingly forced himself to look at Chris. “So sorry.”

Chris understood. “I can’t say it’s okay, but I know some of what you’re going through.”

Stiles nodded and looked away, then tensed as if he was going to move.

“No, stay.” Chris waited for the confused gaze to lock with his own before continuing. “You get one free pass. I forgive you.”

Stiles smiled slowly. It wasn’t much of a smile, but Chris knew something about that, too.

“What time is it?”

“Somewhere around three, I think. I came in for a nap after I got home.” Stiles seemed bone weary, and Chris pulled the sheet back up over them both. “Rest a bit more. Peter is making some sort of pie for dessert today.”

“Okay….” Stiles was already drifting off.

Chris could barely suppress the urge to put his arm over Stiles to pull him close.

 

**

 

Peter wished there was someone he knew in the lifestyle. Allison would’ve known some, and technically he could’ve asked for Desdemona’s number, but he had never known Ally’s girlfriend that well, and… well, awkward.

He thought while he did the day’s food prep, and when everything was ready for the time when he’d actually start cooking, he didn’t have more excuses.

He went to his tiny little office and opened his laptop. And fell into a research hole like no other.

He found things that freaked him out, of course. Many things, actually. After looking into enough things that unsettled him—and hoping those weren’t Stiles’s kinks—he realized he wanted to know about the Tucson kink community Stiles had left behind.

By sheer luck, he found an article where someone called Master Ennis was interviewed, and remembering that was the name of Stiles’s husband’s friend who was taking care of things for Stiles, he did a bit more googling and found the man on Facebook of all things.

He sent a message and hoped Ennis would see it. He didn’t want to friend the guy, in case Stiles would see that and think it was… too much. Too weird and invasive. It was, Peter couldn’t deny it, but this way he could try to find out more without needlessly freaking Stiles out.

His messenger pinged when he was reading about the different ways a D/s relationship worked for people.

_Yes, I know Stiles. Who are you exactly?_

Peter cracked his neck and started one of the weirdest conversations of his life.

_I’m Peter Hale, as I said, I live in Beacon Hills. I know Stiles from his childhood a little. He’s staying at my B &B. He’s… not doing well. There was an incident and… let’s say I know he’s in the BDSM lifestyle, and I bullshitted my way through what was probably some sort of submission related panic attack.I_

There. That was the best he could do.

_Is he okay? How bad was it? Wait. Just… why don’t you call me at this number?_

Peter saved the number to his cell, and called it.

“He’s better now. I made him go to bed after I managed to calm him down. My husband went to check up on him couple of hours ago and didn’t come back, so I assume they’re napping.”

“Together?” Ennis’s voice was deep and disbelieving, and not just a little protective.

“Yes. I didn’t want Stiles alone in his room. He hasn’t slept much at all.” He couldn't explain about how his wolf felt about Stiles being in its den, safe where it felt like Stiles belonged.

“Okay, fine, tell me what happened today?”

Peter talked to Ennis, explained everything, and got a few tidbits that might help.

“But don’t you fucking step your foot into this if you’re not ready to follow through. He’s grieving, and I would’ve taken him in myself if I didn’t have a sub already. We aren’t compatible, Stiles and I, and he knows that and didn’t ask even know he knew he could’ve.”

“I think we can manage, my husband and I. He’s… we’ve had a third before, for a while, and while this isn’t the same, it’s similar.”

Ennis hummed. “Don’t hurt him. Unless he asks you to, of course.” There was a bit of humor in his tone at the end. “Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how much did you freak out after you put Stiles to bed?”

Peter chuckled. “Seven-ish, I think.”

“Good.”

“Why?” Peter felt curious.

“If you’d said less than five or that you didn’t freak out at all, I would’ve come there to make sure Stiles is safe. Kink is… it’s not easy, when you’re thrust into it head first, even if you choose it like you have.”

“If you’re looking for me to backpedal here, say I haven’t chosen anything, you’re going to be disappointed,” Peter stated dryly.

He wouldn’t out himself to a stranger who probably knew nothing about the supernatural, so he couldn’t just explain how his wolf felt about Stiles, and how much Peter trusted his wolf on these things. It had chosen Christopher, after all.

Ennis made a sound that Peter took as approval of sorts. “I guess sometimes you just know.”

“What happened to his husband?”

“Deucalion was my best friend for twenty-five years. He hid a side of himself even from me, and we went into kink together back in the day. Worst than that, he hid himself from his husband who should’ve been gifted with the utmost honesty and respect this sort of relationship needs and Stiles as a person deserves. He didn’t. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Fine. Maybe Stiles will tell us one day.”

“Just… don’t push him. Not about this.”

“I won’t. Can I call you if I need more guidance about all of this?”

“Yeah, sure. While you’re researching, look into domestic discipline, too. That was Duke and Stiles’s thing. It’s not mine, so….”

“Okay. Thanks. Talk to you later.”

“Good luck.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little bit more. Not sure if I'll write in the next couple of days, but I have a little more written, so I will post that soon.
> 
> All your comments and kudos give me life, guys. I never thought anyone would like this particular fic with the bit by bit storytelling. So... you know... yay!

* * *

 

 

Stiles hovered in the doorway of the master bedroom where he’d seen Chris go moments earlier. He didn’t want to ask Peter, for whatever reason, and… well. There wasn’t anyone else, unless he wanted to get his dad involved and he really didn’t.

“Chris?” he asked quietly, peering into the bedroom where he’d napped the previous day.

He still wasn’t sure what to do with all that, Chris had been gone again when he’d woken up, and he’d spent the night in his own bed, after dinner.

“Yes?” Chris sat on the window seat of the bay window Stiles hadn’t even noticed yesterday. He had that tablet in his hands, and he looked troubled.

“You’re busy, I can—”

“No, no, there’s no news from Allison and I can use the distraction. What is it?” Chris gestured for him to come in.

Stiles pulled his MacBook from behind his back and thrush it forward as he walked to Chris. “I should check my emails, but….” He gnawed on his lower lip and shifted his weight from one foot to the other unconsciously.

“Ah, right. I can do that for you, sure.” Chris smiled at him warmly, understanding in his eyes, and took the laptop from him.

Stiles sat down across from him and waited as Chris opened the thing and peered at the screen.

“Can you delete all the trash first, then… sort the rest somehow?”

“Sure. How about… condolences separate from anything else? I can make a folder for those?”

“Okay, sounds good.” Stiles stared out at the expanse of forest behind the house while Chris worked. Maybe ten minutes later, he turned the screen to Stiles.

“Here. Those seem safe.”

Stiles hated how much his hands shook when he reached for the computer. Then, as his gaze landed on one of the first emails, he shook his head rapidly, tears welling in his eyes as he pushed it back to Chris. “No… not those, I can’t….” He choked out a sob and his face in his hands.

Chris took a moment more and when he gave the laptop back this time, all the BDSM related things had been removed.

Honestly, Stiles wasn’t sure how much he and Peter knew about the lifestyle Stiles had led before returning to town, but he was happy they knew enough to help. It didn’t seem too much, or invasive, just… right. At least for now.

He went through the emails one by one. There weren’t many left. His life had revolved around Deucalion and the lifestyle for over a year now.

“I was let go when the company I worked for downsized,” he spoke quietly, without taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. “Before that, we’d played a lot. At home, at friends’ places, in a club sometimes. After I lost my dream job, my h-husband, he asked if I need help to deal.”

Chris didn’t speak or look at him directly—Stiles checked him through his peripheral vision—just waited to see if he’d continue speaking. It made it so much easier to do just that.

“I did, need help, that is. So during the first three months or so, we slid more and more into a 24/7 relationship. It was mostly something like… I don’t know if you know what domestic discipline means?” Now he looked at Chris who nodded slightly. Stiles continued to browse through his emails so he wouldn’t have to look at Chris. “I got rules. What to do around the house, how my husband wanted everything. We cancelled the cleaning service and I learned to cook more. I was… happy. It gave me space, I guess, to just be me without the stress of finding a new job right away.”

“What was your job before?” Chris asked when Stiles stopped talking.

“I taught art in an elementary school.” Stiles smiled at the thought. “It was… great. Amazing. To see all that creativity in the kids and how even the quiet ones opened up through their art…. And the glorious mess they could come up with, when I looked away for even a second….”

He looked up when Chris didn’t speak right away, and saw a certain kind of fondness in the man’s gaze as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles ducked his head and blushed lightly.

“Do you think you want to go back to teaching?”

He shook his head and frowned. “I thought about it. But my husband died in a spectacularly stupid way that someone could dig up somehow. It’s not… I mean, what parent wants their kid to be taught by someone kinky, you know?”

“But you’re still here.”

Stiles, starting to feel tired again as the memories and the conversation sucked energy out of him snorted softly. “Sometimes.”

 

**

 

It felt like slow going. Peter still hadn’t actually done anything more to help Stiles, but at least he was appearing at mealtimes and even cooked for Peter and Chris one night.

When the new guests came in, Stiles slinked around the corners like a stray cat and stayed in his room more often than not.

The guests didn’t eat in the house, other than breakfast, so they were still mostly free all other times. They didn’t stay long, either, just a few days while they were in town visiting relatives or whatnot—frankly Peter didn’t care much—and once they left, Stiles reappeared and seemed to hang around more often.

Stiles went to see his dad, too, a couple of times. One of those times, he’d told Peter he wouldn’t be back until late.

“You can have a date night or something,” he’d said, smiling at Peter in a way that seemed to aim at mischief but came across as wistful more than anything.

“We’ll see. Have fun. Tell John we said hi.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what you get today. I'll try to get something out tomorrow, too, but Wednesdays are my D&D evenings, so I might not have time and energy to write tomorrow so... we'll see.

* * *

 

They were having dinner, a candlelit one, which meant it was an impromptu date night or Peter had something on his mind he wanted to talk about. It turned out to be both.

“How long has it been since Braeden?” Peter asked after they’d settled down to eat.

Chris thought for a while. “Five years? Something like that.”

Peter hummed. Braeden had been a friend of Peter’s nephew, Derek. She’d stayed in town for some supernatural thing, and she’d somehow ended up staying for a few months. She’d become as close to a third as they’d had. They were both bisexual, so having a woman between them had been… well, fun as hell.

They’d all known from the start it wasn’t romantic, even though they’d all been quite fond for each other. Braeden would never stay in one place for long, and while she’d visited them afterwards, she’d always stayed for one or two nights only and never again in their bedroom.

Chris didn’t need to ask Peter why she was the subject of the conversation.

“Your wolf wanted Stiles in our bed,” he murmured, letting Peter know he understood. “It’s different. _He’s_ different. If your wolf reacts, I…,” he trailed off, not knowing how to form his thoughts.

“I just don’t want you to give into something just because you think my wolf needs it.” Peter looked at him and took a sip of his red wine. “It needs to be something we both want. Something we _all_ want.”

Chris nodded. “Right. He might not want anything like that with us.”

“He wants,” Peter said in his sneaky, wolfy tone Chris loved so much it hurt sometimes.

“That’s unfair.”

“Yes, but it’s not like he doesn’t know I’m a wolf.” Chris tsked and Peter smirked. “What? It’s true.”

They chatted about the situation some more. Went through different possible scenarios, which oddly reminded Chris of a briefing before a long hunt.

They agreed that they would try, on Stiles’s pace, if Stiles wanted to. They just needed to be open about it. About their expectations, or rather the lack of them.

By the time they were having coffee and chocolate ice cream in the living room by the fireplace, the front door bounced open and Stiles marched in without looking at them. He made a beeline to the stairs and stomped up, until Chris couldn’t hear him anymore.

“He went to his room,” Peter said, frowning. “Something must’ve gone wrong with John.”

Chris frowned, too. Suddenly Peter’s head tilted up, listening to something. Slowly, a smile spread on his lips.

“What?”

“He’s scrubbing our bathroom.”

“Well, you did tell him to do that, didn’t you?”

“We should go take a look if he doesn’t stop in the next fifteen minutes, I think.”

“Agreed.”

 

**

 

“Dad, how well do you know Peter and Chris?” Stiles asked, when they sat in the new couch—thanks, Melissa!—in the living room with their post-dinner beers in hand.

“I don’t know, pretty well, I guess. Why?”

Stiles looked away and sighed. He didn’t know how to talk to his dad about this. None of it.

“You once told me I could come to you with anything, but the BDSM thing was what changed that,” he said quietly, before taking a long pull from his bottle.

John sighed and drank a mouthful before nodding solemnly. “It just… The gay thing I understand. The older man thing I can sort of see, hell, my own parents had a significant age difference. None of that is… weird to me. It’s just… I don’t understand, Stiles. You know I had to learn quickly when Scott got bitten and we had that whole reveal. That’s actually one of the conversations I’ve had with Chris and later Peter.”

Stiles nodded. “But?”

“You know I’m quiet a bit in the ‘to each their own’ camp, this just….” He huffed, sounding frustrated.

“It’s not domestic abuse, you do understand that, right?”

“No, at least not in all cases.”

“It wasn’t domestic abuse with Duke, not once,” Stiles said, even if his mind flashed him memories of a busted lip and a black eye he hadn’t gotten accidentally while in a scene.

It was like his dad’s cop senses were tingling, because he suddenly looked at Stiles and narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that he didn’t abuse you when it came to the dominance thing, but….?”

“No.” Then, he teared a piece of the bottle label off and mumbled. “Twice. Outside of the D/s.”

“Jesus Christ, kid!”

“It was towards the end, Dad, and it had _nothing_ to do with our lifestyle!”

John downed the rest of his beer and all but slammed it on the coffee table. “If he wasn’t dead—”

“I know, but he is. He was my husband and he’s _gone_ Dad. Don’t you remember how that’s like?” Stiles snapped, unable to feel sorry for what he’d brought up.

John looked suitably chastised. “Sorry, son. I just….” Then he cleared his throat. “So what were you asking about Chris and Peter?”

“Do you know if they’ve ever had a—you know what, never mind. It’s just that…. I think Peter’s wolf wants me safe. And Chris has been helping a lot. And Peter, he’s… I think he’s trying to learn about BDSM—”

“Oh hell no, kid, don’t do this to yourself. I know they had a thing with that girl Braeden some years back, but Jesus Christ, Stiles.”

“I’m not a kid,” Stiles spat out. “I’m twenty-six, Dad. I might be submissive, but I’m not a fucking doormat and I can still think for myself.”

“Deucalion—”

“Is _dead_!” Stiles got up and put his beer on the table. “He’s dead, because he lied to me, kept things from me, and fucking—” He clamped his mouth shut and gritted his teeth.

“Son—”

“No. Just… no.” Stiles marched out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The BDSMy stuff continues/starts/whatever in the next chapter, in one form or other. You've been warned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be Peter and Chris's attempt at D/s. Let's see how it goes....

* * *

 

 

“Are we ready to take it into a sexual direction if the situation calls for it?” Peter asked him, just as they were about to ascend the stairs. It had been twenty minutes and they were starting to get worried.

“He’s in _our_ bathroom, not his own. Some part of him wants us to interfere.” Stiles could’ve gone on his cleaning spree in his own bathroom, after all.

“I understand that, but are _you_ ready?” Peter reached for his hand and squeezed. When Chris looked into his eyes, he could see determination, but also a little bit worry.

“If I’m not, I’ll leave the situation. I didn’t think it would be this soon and I’m not sure how much of this even is sexual to _him_ even if it was for us.”

Peter frowned at his words, seemed to think for a moment before nodding. “You think it’s inherently sexual for us, because we don’t completely understand it and we’re not in the lifestyle?”

“Yes. To most vanilla people BDSM is about sex, right?”

Peter nodded again, then grinned. “How vanilla do you consider the fact that you’re married to werewolf? The full moons can get a bit wild, after all….”

Chris chuckled and pulled him up the stairs. Yeah, Peter was right. Chris could look like he’d been mauled after a full moon.

Peter straightened his pose visibly when they got to the bedroom door. Chris squeezed his fingers and squared his own shoulders. Show time.

 

**

 

Peter led the way to the bedroom and took off his sweater, leaving only a T-shirt on. He saw Chris do the same from the corner of his eye and liked the idea of Chris following his lead. Not that it was unusual, but just because they were in sync as they should be.

He went to the bathroom door, listening to the scrubbing that seemed aggressive instead of manic like last time. He knocked on the door that was ajar, and pushed it open slowly.

“Stiles?” Peter went inside, and saw that Stiles was in the shower cubicle.

The scrubbing stopped. When Peter walked to peer into the glass enclosed space, he could see how different Stiles’s body language was compared to last time. It seemed almost defiant, as if he was taking something out on the tiles instead of the person responsible for his mood.

“Dad thinks BDSM is domestic abuse, and I might’ve let it slip that my husband hit me twice.”

Peter’s wolf growled immediately, and he couldn’t help that the sound slipped out for couple of seconds before he could suppress it. He sensed Chris’s sudden rage, his wolf feeding on it, and closed his eyes so they wouldn’t be so obvious.

“You can wolf out,” Stiles said without looking at him. “I don’t mind. Besides, he’s dead. He won’t hurt me anymore.”

Stiles started to scrub again. He’d opted for sweats and no shirt, and the sweat glistening on his skin made Peter swallow hard. He could smell it in the air, and if he’d open his mouth, he’d taste it, too.

“Stiles,” Chris said. “Would you stop that and let us help?”

“Yeah.” Peter moved a bit so that Chris could lean with him to the edge of the counter. “What do you need?”

Stiles froze, then turned his head so that he could see them from the corner of his eye. “Anything?”

“Anything we’re comfortable with at this point,” Peter replied, hoping Stiles knew what he meant.

Stiles put the cleaning brush away and turned around on his knees. He wiped his brow, looking doubtful, but there was hope in his gaze, too.

“It’s about serving for me,” Stiles said quietly. “More than pain, even though that’s good sometimes too. I just… I need out of my head for a while. I haven’t been able to, not really….” His lower lip trembled, and a flash of anger crossed his features. “I don’t know what I can ask you. I….”

To Peter’s surprise, Chris stepped forward. “Do you trust us?”

Stiles nodded.

“Safeword?” Chris asked firmly.

“Red.” Then he looked at both of them in turn and said, “You two need them, too. Use red for now?”

“There are two of us, we can keep each other in check. You don’t have to worry about us right now,” Peter assured him.

“But ‘red’ works for now, yes,” Chris hastened to add, because it was obvious Stiles needed to hear it.

As Peter watched, Chris walked close enough to Stiles to have to really look up to look him in the eyes. “Thank you,” Stiles uttered, looking so relieved that they were willing to try, that Peter’s heart clenched, and his wolf pushed at the boundary between man and wolf inside him.

“You’re welcome, boy,” Chris murmured, sliding his fingers into Stiles’s hair and tugging a little.

Stiles’s eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed enough for there to be a visible slumping in his form. He was still on his knees, still holding his shoulders back with his posture straight— _submissive training_ , Peter thought absently—yet Peter could still tell the now familiar switch was being flipped again.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Chris said in a low tone. “Are you comfortable with nudity with us?”

Stiles swallowed hard, and when Chris tugged at his hair meaningfully, he opened his eyes and looked at Chris and then Peter. “Yes. I… It’s not the same, for me. I… I u-used to be naked around the house most of the time.” The words came out in a rush, as if Stiles had to get them out but didn’t want to dwell in the past. Peter understood that well.

“Alright. Well, it’s getting late, and it’s bedtime soon. I think we want you in our bed tonight,” Chris said, glanced at Peter who nodded, and then fixed his gaze on Stiles again. “There are a couple of things that need doing before that.” Stiles nodded almost eagerly. “Let’s start easy, okay. First, get out of the rest of your clothes. Throw them in the hamper. Then go change the sheets in our bed. Our linens are in the leftmost closet in the bedroom.”

Peter watched as Stiles concentrated fully on his instructions and seemed to start sinking into something slowly but surely. Subspace? Peter didn’t think it would be that easy, but if he even came close, it had to help, right?

“While you do that,” Peter said, finally moving close enough to cup Stiles’s cheek. “Chris and I are going to take a shower. When you’re done, come back here and we’ll figure out whether you want to shower alone or need help, okay?” Stiles looked at him and nodded. “Good boy.” Stiles’s lids fluttered, but his eyes stayed open this time. “All you have to do tonight is to concentrate on us and what we want, and do as you’re told. Now go on. There’s no rush, take the time you need.”

Stiles got to his feet surprisingly smoothly—what a difference to the flaily young man he’d once been—and stripped his sweats and underwear off. He took them to the hamper and left the bathroom.

Peter could hear him go about the task assigned to him. He nodded to Chris, who reached to turn on the shower. They undressed, put their clothes on top of Stiles’s sweats, and stepped into the thoroughly cleaned cubicle.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Chris murmured quietly, knowing he’d hear anyway.

Peter shrugged. He hoped so, and the look in Chris’s eyes echoed his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV is next. I almost added it to this one, but nah, not yet. That way you'll get a longer chapter tomorrow. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

Stiles stripped the sheets off the bed and bundled them up. He hadn’t gotten instructions on where to put them, but he knew they would go to the laundry room downstairs. He didn’t want to go that far, so he put the bundle by the bedroom door and went to find the linens.

The task was easy, he’d done it enough times that he didn’t need to think about it. He made sure everything looked perfect, though, and felt himself sinking just a little. For the moment, he forgot that it was less than two weeks since his life had been turned upside down, and just let go, knowing that Chris and Peter would catch him.

Once the bed looked as good as he could make it, he went to the bathroom and dropped to his knees on the mat by the shower. He didn’t look up, but he could hear Chris and Peter in the shower. They chatted quietly, and Stiles knew they’d noticed him, but weren’t acknowledging him.

The fact that they concentrated on each other and not him right then felt like a caress. He could wait. He was exactly where he should be; waiting for instructions, concentrating on them even though they weren’t on him.

The shower was large, and having cleaned it, he knew it probably could fit all three of them, but not that comfortably. He refused to let his mind wander to possibilities. He did need a shower, but it wasn’t up to him to decide how that would happen, not tonight.

“Stiles, we’ve decided we want to make sure you’re clean before we allow you in the bed,” Peter said in that lower register voice that made something tug inside Stiles. “So you get to decide who helps you with that. One or both of us?”

Stiles looked up, the glass was fogged to their waistlines, so he could only see them partially. “Both, please,” the words came out like a plea, without a conscious thought.

“Alright, then. Come on, get in here,” Chris rumbled and opened the door enough to let him in and some steam out.

They put him between them, with his chest to Peter and back to Chris.

“Just stay there,” Peter murmured.

Stiles swallowed hard and closed his eyes. This was what they wanted of him, and he could do this.

Strong fingers rubbed some mildly scented shampoo into his hair, and he felt himself relax further. He took every murmured direction and let them move his body, feeling something negative fall off with the soap suds. There was peace in this, and he found himself sinking further.

“I think we’re done here,” Chris said and turned off the water. “Go get our towels ready, Stiles. The blue one is mine, black is Peter’s. You can take the extra one on the counter.”

He got out under the haze of following the new directions, and realized they were incomplete. He turned before he got to the heated towel rack, but couldn’t make himself to look them in the eye.

“Dry yourself first,” Peter said, and Stiles rushed to do that.

Once he was dry enough, he turned back to them. “Now me,” Peter said and stepped out of the shower. He stood there and held his hand out. Stiles gave him the black towel, and once Peter had dried his hair, he handed it back. “Finish the job for me, boy.”

The name tacked to the end made Stiles sink further. He dried Peter’s body with extra care, reminding himself they were going to bed next. That was, if they would deem Stiles worthy. If he’d done good enough job. He didn’t want to go to his room alone. Not… not like this. The thought made his heart beat faster, and suddenly there were fingers in his hair, tugging hard.

“Where did you go, boy?” Peter snapped the question at him. “I can hear your heart speeding.”

“I’m s-sorry, sir, I just—”

“Did I ask you to think?”

“N-no, sir.” Stiles felt like lowering himself to the ground, but stayed upright, locking his knees to make sure he didn’t kneel.

“That’s right. Now, I was going to ask you if you wanted to give either of us a blowjob since you’ve been so good, but I don’t think you get to anymore. I don’t think you’ve quite deserved the privilege.” Peter’s tone was even, but Stiles could see how his cock was plumping up anyway.

Suddenly all he could think was getting to serve them both that way. Stiles loved sucking cock, it was the most basic thing that brought him peace and was rarely sexual for him while he was doing it. A whine escaped him.

“Now hang up my towel and get Chris’s. Once you’ve dried him, meet me in the bedroom.” Peter’s words sounded final, not hugely disappointed, but still, Stiles knew he hadn’t done well.

Peter left, and Stiles began to dry Chris, pointedly keeping his mind concentrated on chasing the droplets town the lean, strong body. They were gorgeous, both of them, in different ways. He didn’t understand how it worked so well to have two clear alpha males in the same relationship, but maybe it was different when they were vanilla?

Or were they? His dad had said something about a threesome they’d had with some girl, and here they were, doing their best to Dom him, and—“Boy? What did I tell you?” Peter’s voice snapped like a whip from the other room.

“Give me the towel, Stiles,” Chris said firmly, then tugged it out of Stiles’s hands. “Go to Peter.”

To have Chris finish drying himself off hurt Stiles’s everything. He’d failed, again, in one night. Wasn’t he a better submissive than this? Wasn’t he fucking _trained_ to do better? His heart started to beat fast again, and suddenly he was in the bedroom, on his knees on the carpet by the bed, with Peter’s strong fingers twisting in his hair hard enough for it to truly sting.

“Are you back with me yet, boy?” Peter growled.

“Y-yes, sir. S-sorry, sir,” he stuttered, drawing in a deep breath. He’d started to slide into a panic attack somehow, and Peter—or maybe his wolf, based on the growl—had stopped it.

“This is what’s going to happen,” Peter said firmly, his fingers loosening just a little bit as he used the grip to tilt Stiles’s head back to make eye contact. “You’re going to kneel there,”—he pointed at a spot on the floor and turned Stiles’s head so that he could be sure Stiles saw it—“and my husband is going to give me a blowjob right here on the bed. You get to watch, but you stay in your spot and don’t touch yourself, even if you feel like doing so. If you manage to be good, you might get a reward.”

Stiles nodded the best he could. He understood. Something about him, maybe an uptick of his heartbeat, made Peter continue. “Even if you fail, you’ll get to sleep in the bed with us. That’s nonnegotiable. The only way you don’t sleep in the bed is if you don’t want to. Even if you safeword and still want to sleep in the bed, you get to do it. That’s not a reward or a punishment, it’s something you get to choose for yourself, and know that we will want you there.”

The relief made Stiles so lightheaded that he swayed a little. It had been his main concern. Now he knew what to expect.

He went to his spot on the floor, and watched as Peter got on the bed, lounging in the middle like a king. He spread his thighs and took hold of his cock, jerking it leisurely. Chris had rounded the bed and now climbed to Peter’s other side, giving Stiles the perfect view to everything they were doing.

Having blocked his pervious life from this moment, he managed to concentrate on the men in front of him, and only felt slightly wistful when they started with kissing each other. He wasn’t jealous of them, but maybe a little bit of what they had. That thought was a slippery slope, though, so he forced it out of his head and let himself take in the view.

He could be good for them. He _needed_ to be. For his own sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not teasing if there's going to be a POV change next, right? :P


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some D/s-y pr0n.

* * *

 

Peter kept half an ear on Stiles’s heartbeat, but concentrated on Chris for the time being. How could he not, when his husband was putting on a show for their guest and knew exactly which buttons to push to bring Peter the most pleasure.

He let himself sink into the familiar feelings, the addition of the quickening heartbeat outside the bed making things more… something. Peter didn’t know how to explain it, but his wolf especially reveled in the attention and the obedience from Stiles.

Chris grabbed the lube from the bedside table and soon his slicked fingers were touching Peter’s ass. He spread his thighs some more, and tilted his hips up, humming as Chris slid in a finger.

“Feels good, love,” Peter murmured, then groaned and arched his back when Chris unerringly tapped his prostate.

The moan from Stiles made Peter grin and his wolf preen. _They_ did that to Stiles.

“He didn’t tell you to be silent, so let your noises out,” Chris told Stiles. “But don’t move a muscle.” Then he went to town on Peter’s cock, and it took no time at all for Peter to come his brains out.

Once his heartbeat had calmed down a little, he realized that party of why he’d gotten there so fast had been the noises Stiles was making. When Peter looked at Stiles, he could see him still in the same spot, but this time he looked flushed, his eyes a little bit glassy, and his cock definitely hard.

“You did good,” Peter told Stiles, while blindly reaching for Chris’s cock and giving it a stroke that made Chris groan. “Would you like your reward?” Stiles nodded rapidly, eagerly, and Peter smirked.

He looked at Chris, raising a brow in silent communication. Chris smiled slightly, nodding.

“Since it’s fine by Chris, you get to give him a blowjob, boy,” Peter said and heard the whimper from the floor. “How about you get on the bed and get to it. You get to come if I say so, if I think you need to.”

Chris settled against the headboard and spread his thighs invitingly. Stiles scrambled to his feet and climbed on the bed, almost faceplanting in Chris’s crotch in his haste.

Chris steadied him by the shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. No rush, boy. Take a deep breath for us,” Chris murmured in a voice Peter now recognized as a Dom voice, as it seemed to pop up only around Stiles.

“Stiles,” Peter said once Stiles had calmed down a bit. “You’ve been good, and I would like to touch you. Can I?”

Stiles nodded at him almost shyly, which made Peter realize that the deeper he went into his submissive state, the more he probably needed attention and direction, and most of all, praise.

Chris cupped Stiles’s cheek and led him to his cock. “You can use your hands if you want to.”

Watching the way Stiles nuzzled against Chris, as if grateful to be able to serve, made Peter’s cock twitch. He moved lower on the bed, so that he could lean his head to Chris’s chest and get a better view on what Stiles was doing.

“You look so gorgeous doing that, boy,” he told Stiles, who was making Chris let out all the right kind of sounds.

Stiles blushed and kept at his task, redoubling his efforts to bring Chris pleasure.

“He likes some teeth,” Peter advised quietly, and soon, Chris made the choked-up sound that told Peter Stiles had taken the note and put it into action right away. “Good boy.”

The closer Chris got—and by now Peter could tell exactly how close he was—the more Stiles seemed to slide into something which Peter hoped was subspace.

Peter moved again, sitting next to them so he could reach to touch Stiles where he wanted to. He ran his hand over the wide shoulders and tapered waist, and squeezed a firm asscheek, making Stiles moan around Chris’s cock.

“I wonder if you like being spanked,” Peter mused out loud, very much on purpose, just to hear Stiles make a whine that told him all he needed to know.

Peter glanced at Stiles’s cock, that was hard still, but not achingly so. Stiles was fully concentrated on Chris, and not at all at his own desire, but Peter guessed his body still wanted, even if it wasn’t conscious.

He reached below Stiles and wrapped his fingers around his dick, familiarizing himself with how it felt in his hand.

“Chris is very close, make him come and I’ll give you permission, too,” he promised, then looked into Chris’s eyes very pointedly as he started to jerk Stiles off.

Chris let out a broken sound, his eyes rolling back as he twitched, coming into Stiles’s greedy mouth.

Peter tightened his grip and jerked Stiles faster, not giving him any time to react. “That’s it, such a good, sweet boy for us. Come for us, Stiles.”

It seemed to take Stiles by surprise when his cock suddenly spurted in Peter’s grip. His hips twitched helplessly a few times, before he slumped into a heap, almost passing out, it looked like.

Peter pulled his hand away and licked at the cum on his fingers, his wolf feeling happy and sated inside.

Together, they maneuvered Stiles into the middle of the bed, then pulled the covers over him and Chris, while Peter went to get a glass of water from the bathroom. They cuddled Stiles until he came down enough to drink the water.

“You good?” Chris petted Stiles’s hair.

“Mhmm…,” Stiles managed to say, but his eyes were already closing.

“Sleep,” Peter said, kissing Stiles’s forehead, then giving Chris a real kiss over him.

They settled down to sleep, and Peter hoped morning wouldn’t bring too much awkwardness. There would be some, he thought, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as ohthepretty.


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